


Tell Me Why My Gods Look Like You

by goldencurls



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anyways, Boys Kissing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Fashion Designer Louis Tomlinson, Fluff and Angst, Harry's POV, Hurt/Comfort, I suck at tags, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Most of the time, Photographer Harry, Pining, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Unrequited Love, Very Very Stupid, and a princess, and also stupid, and so very cool, anyways happy reading, attempts at humour by me (the author), because back then everyone was a homophobic prick, because i dont want to drag their real family through the mud, business families, but obviously not actually unrequited, but the good kind of cliche, but the places were pretty, but they aren't great, current-time homophobia, everyone is gay btW, i would marry her in a heartbeat honestly, inspired lightly by evermore by taylor swift, not that they're too shitty, original styles-tomlinson family, potentially, she's so hot, that sounds so contradictory but it makes sense i swear, they all are rich as fuck, this is one giant cliche, very nice happy ending, who is CLEARLY taylor swift but i named her valerie because i dont want to tag haylor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:07:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28362153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldencurls/pseuds/goldencurls
Summary: “You look like a dolphin”, he said assessing Harry with his electric blue eyes.“Dolphins are the smartest creatures in the world”“Actually I am, and by dolphin i meant that you look like someone permanently froze you with baby oil on your skin, it’s gross”“It’s smooth”, Harry pouted.“Well, at least one thing about you has to be”--------------Or; Harry is enamored, Louis is competitive, Niall is wise beyond his years and Zayn is in need of some wisdom. Liam joins the ride and witnesses his friends love and fall.Enter a Princess who Louis and Harry need to impress, a series of competitions, a realization, young love and a fuckton of sadness.A story in three parts, inspired by Gold Rush, Champagne Problems and Closure by Taylor Swift.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles/Original Female Character(s), Louis Tomlinson/Original Female Character(s), Niall Horan/Zayn Malik, everything but larry is minor dw
Comments: 11
Kudos: 27





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> HIII!!! THANK YOU FOR POPPING UP TO THIS BOREDOM INDUCED PIECE OF MY HEART :)  
> i'm so very grateful that you chose to give this a try, but before we start you should know that this story is in three parts. and it's chaptered. its based on taylor swift's album 'evermore' because it's just one of those albums you listen to and hope to get a story out of.  
> NOTE : none of the characters in this story are real or resemble their real selves. its all fake. untrue. false. fictional. IMAGINARY!  
> and lastly, PLEASE leave comments. about anything. talk to me i'm a lonely little girl who needs love.  
> THANK YOU, HAPPY READING XX  
> P.S. the first chapter (prologue really) is short as fuck, tinier than Clifford's little dog paws. it keeps getting longer from here though i promise :D

It was well past midnight and the party scene in Camden was making its much awaited debut. Harry sipped his wine slowly while looking around the barely lit, cologne-scented nightclub with a smile. The glitz and glamour, champagne and pretty people all engulfing the neon dancefloor seemingly without a care in the world.

Harry was as charmed as he was intoxicated.

Just as he was preparing himself for a fourth round of tequila shots and more wine, he spotted a boy. The same boy he saw at this same club two nights ago. The same one he was secretly waiting for, no matter how much he disagreed with that statement when Niall says it.

And wow, this boy.

White lace hugged his petite physique in a flowery pattern that made his shoulders and torso seem like it was sculpted by the hands of god almighty. His black bell-bottoms that slid over his lace top at his waistline only added to the stunning sight of the boy. His cheekbones, sharp and delicately resting on his silky golden skin, were covered with a layer of shimmering sweat that confirmed that the grotesque nightclub they were currently standing in wasn’t the first stop of his night.

As he approached the other end of the bar, however, his striking appearance was the last thing on Harry’s mess of a mind. His eyes seemed to outshine (literally) every other aspect of him.

They were blue and beautifully vivid. Like a clear stream of light blue glacial water flowing in the midst of icy hills.

And yes, Harry was well aware that his internal monologue sounded like a teenage girl describing her dreamy crush after spending a whole day reading sad, lovey poetry, but he couldn’t help it.

Pretty boys with golden skin had an annoying capability to make him a bit of a poet. It was a daily struggle in the life of Harry Styles.

Because of the combined effects of the boy’s beauty and Harry’s many drinks that night, he barely let the thought trouble him as he stumbled gracelessly to the human version of a crystal waterfall.

“Hello again, Third Sun Of My Starless Sky”, Harry said (sang) to the beautiful boy who had situated himself on the bar table with his legs hanging in the air and making him look like a toddler. It would probably be pretentious of anyone else to sit on the bar table instead of the many unoccupied barstools lined up right in front of him, but this boy's arse probably deserved the extra space.

Harry was sure his toddler persona was vital in getting him out of every messed up situation the mischievous glint in his eyes definitely got him into. Who could resist that ruffled hair and vibrant face?

“ _Third_ Sun? Curly, I’m not sure if you’re sober enough to be aware but that’s hardly flattering”, the boy's voice was as raspy as the crunch of mid-autumn leaves but also smoother than cold metal. It seemed like Harry would never stop being enchanted by him. He should probably start a career in poetry if this boy was going to frequent Harry’s life.

“I apologize, but you can’t really expect yourself to be above donuts and David Bowie, could you?” Yes, he could. He probably is. But Harry has dignity, and he will preserve that dignity, he really will.

“Hmm, fair enough, what finally brought you to my humble abode this gorgeous night?” the boy said, twirling his hands around him in one smooth motion.

No, Harry will absolutely not dwell on the fact that he said 'finally', like he was waiting for him. It doesn't matter if he was, Harry's cool. Yes.

Deep breaths, Styles, pretend like you don’t see the second coming of Jesus in a potentially drunk Londoner. It shouldn’t be too difficult.

The boy’s legs started to rhythmically tap the metal below the bar table and the clinking of his boots against cold metal didn’t help Harry much in getting his brain together.

The boy smiled at him and suddenly everything was difficult.

"Curly?", the boy's voice said as he shuffled on his seat to get more comfortable and ran his fingers through his feathery hair.

It shouldn’t look graceful or beautiful, it should look unbalanced and messy.

But Harry sees universes and other celestial beings within the boy’s fingertips.

“Curls?” he repeated, with a hint of frustration.

Harry snapped out of it and looked at the boy again realizing that he should probably answer him before it got weird.

Well, weirder.

Eh.

“A night full of spiked drinks and those b-brinjal eyes of yours”, Harry said, stifling a slight burp and grinning widely.

And no, he definitely did not intend to call his potential lover of the night’s eyes brinjal-like.

But in Harry’s defense, brinjals could look a bit blue in a certain light. Possibly. Yes.

Weirder accomplished. 

“Brinjal eyes?”, he chuckles, “First, you prioritize donuts over me and now my eyes look like a vegetable? You’re going to do wonders for my ego, Dimples.”

“I think I prefer Curly, to be honest”

“Then don’t be honest, where’s the fun in that.” And ha, the mischievous glint in his eyes staying true to its word. Harry sadly realized that there would probably not be any point to introducing himself to this boy who'll most likely make up a fake name and maybe might even possibly get him sent to jail.

Harry wondered what his name was, though.

“What’s your name, Golden Sun”

Harry was sure his eyes were probably sparkling with amazement at the boy in front of him, and that he was probably not doing much help for his previously well-preserved dignity.

But fuck if he cares.

The boy’s already twinkling eyes pretty much turn into diamonds when he tips his head back to let out a delicate laugh.

“You’re very drunk aren’t you, Dimples? Golden Sun, my my, that’s a lot of pressure on me eh?”, he chuckles. “Well it is progress from brinjal, though. I’ll give you that.”

Harry wanted to feign offence as a way to keep the banter going but even in his highly intoxicated state, he saw right through the boy's attempt at avoiding the question.

“I still haven’t got a name”, he said, arms crossed and lips lightly pouted.

“David Bowie”

And here’s where Harry’s alcohol-induced mind worked at full force and really thought for a full thirty seconds that he was flirting with the legend himself.

Taking one glance at Harry’s wonder-filled, gaping expression, Golden Boy let out a bubbled laugh that turned into a shameless wheeze.

“Dimples, your face!!” more laughs, “You’re so fucking drunk mate” laugh again.

“Second Sun himself, then?” Harry said, knowing that he should probably feel at least the slightest bit embarrassed, but not feeling anything but pure bliss at having such a beautiful organism banter with him.

His filer-lacking brain really just called Golden Boy and organism.

An organism capable of giving instant orgasms, he’s sure.

Has a nice ring to it, Harry thinks.

“What’re you so zoned out for, Dimples?”

“Just thinking of how you’re probably an organism capable of giving instant orgasms.”

Harry was growing more and more grateful by the second that this boy and his diamond eyes could find humor in everything, as he was currently half falling out of the bar table in a series of raucous laughter that tumbled across the nightclub in magical heaps.

And wow, Harry's lust has made this boy's boisterous laughter a fucking piece of poetry. He needs water, and he needs to sleep. Preferably in a bed and not the floor of a club. Preferably with this Golden Boy cuddled up next to him.

“Here, here lads, we have a poet at our midst” Golden Boy shouted looking directly at Harry and grinning wider than Harry thought was possible, and for one terrifying moment Harry thought people would wonder what this boy was talking about and gather to listen.

Thankfully, it seemed as though the nightclub was otherwise occupied in the mating ground they called ‘a dancefloor’.

Or it was common for Golden Boy to use his loud personality as a method to flirt.

Harry chose to believe it was the former. 

"Ready to conquer the world, Dimples?”


	2. Part 1: Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> y-you clicked on the 'next chapter' button??? really?? I AM SO BEYOND GRATEFUL! hope you like this one, it sets the plot

The blinding sunlight attacked Harry’s freshly moisturized and sun-screened face without fail as he walked out of his house at ten in the morning.

He walked out with purpose and a hint of nervousness. After all, his entire life completely depended on impressing the girl he was set to meet in about two hours.

He made his way through the many market roads of Camden, filled to the brim with tourists and locals alike. The streets were a colourful blend of high waisted pantsuits and polka dotted dresses. Young ladies carried woven handbags that Harry could never really grasp the idea of. One leak of lip gloss or even just water and the bag would be rendered permanently useless. Basket bags from three years ago were much more user-friendly in Harry’s personal opinion. But, fashion is fashion, as they say.

He smiled widely every time he made eye-contact with someone and even waved at a little girl. Anything to get him on God’s good graces for one day.

A slight brush of long fingers erratically startled Harry (he had been getting jostled around by the crowd all morning, it’s surprising he hadn’t eaten dirt yet) he looked around him to find the source of the sudden electricity that tingled his bones.

It was a boy. Not _the_ boy, but a pretty boy nonetheless. Harry caught a quick glimpse of cheekbones and a large bag containing what looked identical to his own set of goods from that morning.

Silk robes, flowers and books that belonged in a sacred library that no one dared to touch but loved to admire.

 _Strange_ , Harry thought because no one would voluntarily carry such random things in a market street. Unless they were a wannabe hipster, and this boy and his plain black t-shirt looked the type to exaggeratedly criticize hipsters not be one. Harry’s own reason for his fancy cargoes was, of course, the girl he needed to impress.

Well ‘girl’ was putting it too simply. Princess was probably the more accurate term.

She was a wealthy princess, ruling over a small area in the outskirts of London called Mercia and set to inherit the land and money of her family. She seemingly had a good life, but there was a catch as there always is. Her family wouldn’t allow their only daughter to get a single penny of their money if she was not married to a man suitable to be king.

Is that misogynistic? Yes, very much so. Is it probably homophobic as well because rumour has it that the young princess had been in a long-term relationship with her handmaiden and had to break it off to adhere to her parents’ wishes? Correct again.

However, since Harry’s own family has been incessantly pestering him to marry the girl because they were having money issues ever since Harry’s father (the great Ricky Styles, youngest businessman to ever become a millionaire) went partially bankrupt and the only remaining money was the 300 thousand pounds secured safely in Harry’s own bank account (which is apparently far too less for someone of his family’s social standing) Harry needed to impress this girl.

It wasn’t like Harry was completely not attracted to girls, not at all. In fact, he flaunted his bisexuality every time he was given the chance. Sure, he had an inclination towards men (as history suggests) but dating a girl was no big deal to him. It wasn’t like there would be any real feelings involved anyway. It was more of a business deal than a marriage and since Harry never believed in the over-fictionalised fantasy that is love, this was a deal of a lifetime.

“Sorry mate, I couldn’t help but notice our unnervingly similar choice of items to bring out today, are you meeting Princess Valerie too?”, Electric Cheekbones boy asked with a voice that felt like golden molasses flowing out of a glass jar.

“Oh, yes,” Harry rushed, clearing his throat, “I’m Harry Styles, are you one of the contenders as well?”, he said, leading them to one side of the path so that they don’t block the way of the other pedestrians.

Harry was fucked if this boy was a contender, though. His charcoal eyes that matched his hair, smooth and clear caramel skin and pointy cheekbones could probably give Bowie himself a run for his money.

“No, no, it all seems too fucked up for me to get roped into”, the boy replied tiredly, waving his hand in front of his chest. “No offence or anything”, the boy added as an afterthought.

“None taken, I actually agree with the fucked up-ness of the situation,” Harry said with his eyebrows raised and lips quirked, “But I’m as into men as I am into women. An illicit affair between my wife and the handmaiden is totally fine by me as long as I get to do the same with pretty boys”

“Good man”, Cheekbones chuckled, “I’m Zayn, by the way. A friend of mine is a contender and he’s lazier than a teenager, so I’m stuck fetching him his things,” he said, sighing exasperatedly.

“Since you’re a contender as well, you might want to watch out for him. He’s one of those magnetic pretty boys who’ll fuck you up and make you kiss his ass at the same time.”

Harry knew a thing or two about boys with magnetic personalities, one such boy had been gracing his dreams for the past three weeks. Living in his head rent free as he should.

“That’s comforting.”

Zayn hummed, “It’s a good ass, though.”

Harry smiled and followed Zayn as he navigated their way to castle using big green direction boards that bordered the crowded market streets.

*

In all his 22 years of living, Harry had seen many different forms of extravagance and luxury. Castles, mansions, resorts, parks, you name it, he’s probably seen the richest version of it. However, he was instantly entranced by the humility of the castle in front of him.

That wasn’t to say it was small or lacked luxury, none of that. It was just much more modest than what he’s used to with its flat roofs and ebony door. Lean guards who seemed more for show than for protection, guided them towards the entrance of the castle. The handle of the large ebony door was encrusted with numerous tiny emeralds and the inside of the castle was warm, wooden and decorated with gold leaves on the walls. The rooms were painted beige and radiated a cosy vibe. The crowd assembled near the gates opening to the throne room was ever-growing. Friends and contenders chattering about and making Harry regret his choice to not bring Niall.

Men from all over the city wanted a chance at the Princess’ heart and her family’s money. If this was any other day, Harry would have relentlessly judged them and complained to Niall about misogyny in the society. It was 1978 for god’s sake! It was about time men realised what a giant pain in the ass they were.

“Here’s where we separate, Harry Styles, I’d better find my friend and let him deal with this hippie shit. I mean seriously? No one who isn’t a pretentious twat would actually read this antique shit. It looks like the first version of the fucking bible”, Zayn sighed as if he was the unfortunate father of three loud children. “Anyways, good luck with the whole marriage thing! See you…uh…someday!”, Zayn waved as he ran into the crowd in search of his friend.

Harry grinned widely at Zayn and waved with the promise of, “I’ll spot your cheekbones in the market sooner or later, you haven’t seen the last of me Zaynie Baboonie”

Zayn waved again and disappeared into the crowd.

Harry inhaled a long breath of expensive perfume and hair gel, a fortunate result of the many well-groomed men surrounding him. Before he could find something to do with his hands to keep himself busy, the large golden doors of the throne room opened.

 _This is it._ Harry’s got this.

Another pair of lean guards stood on the threshold of the throne room and dramatically announced the name of the Princess they were all set to meet as if they weren’t already aware. “Princess Valerie of Mercia”

The men were led into the elaborately furnished throne room that looked like it was copied right out of an old painting. Seats lined both sides of the glass throne. There was a giant ruby on top the Princess’ throne that glowed a bright red colour. Harry was immediately grateful for the ruby and the red tint it was sure to bring to his pale face.

Subtly narrowing his eyes to look at the two men standing on either side of him in the line they all unintentionally formed, he sighed in relief on realizing that he was aptly dressed even though he had barely spent an hour in his dress fitting. He was in a maroon suit with a black undershirt, black trousers and brown, velvet boots. Crisp and sharp, as his father would always say after he sharpened one of his antique knives.

“Welcome contenders!”, the Princess spoke, her firm voice instantly capturing the attention of the room. Harry noticed that the Princess, the two guards and the contenders were the only people in the room. The King and Queen must be really pissed off if they wouldn’t even attend her almost-engagement ceremony. Harry felt sorry for the Princess.

“I know you all must have heard many many stories about the reason for my search for a king,” the Princess predictably started.

“However, they are all false. I’m just a princess looking for my king, in fact I don’t even have a handmaiden,” she chortled, “This isn’t the 18th century I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself”, the Princess’ flowery voice twinkled in practiced delight as the men around Harry released scattered chuckles.

Regardless of the fact that Harry could see right through the Princess’ nonchalant, straight act, he was pleasantly enamoured by her. She had short blonde hair and clear blue eyes. Her dress was a soft pink colour that flowed around her in pretty layers. Her face was pale with a hint of caramel tan near the cheekbones. She had long limbs and a petite figure that looked almost too skinny. She was a near-doppelganger of Marilyn Monroe herself; Harry knew that it probably wouldn’t be too hard to like her.

In short, it was safe to say, Harry developed a bit of a crush.

And again, he knew that the Princess was probably faking her enthusiasm but liking more than one gender was god’s greatest idea and Harry hoped she was privy to this brilliant idea.

Her blue gaze finally stopped shifting across the many men lined up in front of her and lingered heavily on someone to Harry’s left that he couldn’t see unless he blatantly turned his head (which seemed like a crime in this poised throne room where everyone looked straight and barely breathed properly).

“Can we start with introductions, right to left?”, Princess Valerie asked without shifting her eyes from the unknown man she seemed enraptured by. Harry quickly realized he was second to the rightmost corner of the line and prepared himself to give his introduction.

“Jesse Pierce”, the blond next to him said with a pull of his plain black suit and a short bow, “son of Richmond Pierce, the much-accoladed lawyer, and Julia Pierce, the actress. I have a good sum of fifteen hundred pounds for my own and would love to add your family’s wealth to that ever-growing heap of notes,” he finished, smiling an overly polished smile.

Harry already didn’t like Jesse’s unnecessarily posh accent and mannerisms, it seemed Valerie shared his opinion as she raised one eyebrow quietly.

“Harry Styles”, he said, clearing his throat, “obnoxiously rich 22-year-old man who would really love some sleep and a chance to show the Princess a good time.”

The Princess was fortunately amused at Harry’s introduction and left her eyes on his face as the other men continued to introduce themselves. Harry tuned them all out and stared at the Princess with a slight smirk.

That flirtatious exchange, however, did not last long as the man Valerie was initially looking at cleared his throat. Her head snapped towards him so fast Harry was afraid she might have sprained her neck.

“I’m Louis Tomlinson, part time gentleman and full-time pain in everyone’s ass.”

And what the fuck?

No.

Huh.

No.

Harry risked it all and snapped his head (because fuck rich people and their manners) towards the boy (Louis? Really? As if this boy needed to be even more associated with royalty. Has anyone seen that diamond eyed face?), just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating someone’s voice.

But no, there he was.

Golden Boy himself.

Harry internally debated on whether his life was one big romantic comedy, or if he was still asleep because there is no way the man he’s been repetitively dreaming about was standing in this excessively bejewelled throne room in hopes of impressing this woman who suddenly seemed to resemble a toad.

A rude toad that needs to be removed from Harry’s shitty and complicated equation of life so that he can get his man.

The toad who was loudly giggling into her slender, cupped fingers as she winked at Louis.

And Louis, who was smiling wider than when Harry was in front of him. Crinkled eyes and ruffled hair in place as he winked back at the Princess.

Alright then.

Let the games begin.


	3. Part 1: Chapter 2

Princess Valerie briefly explained the tasks she set up to filter out the men who so desperately wanted to court her.

It was an elimination game, and she treated is as such. Her eyes shone a wicked silver as she informed the men that she would send three of them home after every task. There were six tasks in all and seventeen men. The two remaining contenders would finally fight for the Princess’ heart in whatever way they see fit.

All in all, this young lady was, in Queen’s own words, a killer queen. Harry admired that immensely.

She did not stay in her ruby-capped throne for more than a second after her meandering explanation of the tasks, she rose from the bejewelled throne and nudged past the men to lead them towards the site of their first task.

A ballroom. Beautiful and big.

Its clean and polished cherry wood floors were left naked and Harry could almost hear the tip-tap of shoes and heels frolicking around the room during fancy royal parties. A large space in the middle cleared for dancing was flanked by velvet seats and white-draped tables arranged neatly as though the room was always ready to be filled by beautiful people. The ceiling was made of thick glass that poured evening sunlight into the room and made everything glow golden and light red. Harry was already excited to see the room at night, dimly lit by lightbulbs attached to silver bars on the glass ceiling that can barely be spotted in the daylight. The glass ceiling was probably the best thing Harry had ever seen. It would give his eyes an easy access to twinkling stars which are quite literally the most intimate conversation starters in all of flirting history.

It was almost like this castle was built for people to fall in love inside it.

Not that love was actually real, of course.

It was all wonderful, in Harry’s opinion. A ball would be easy to charm his way through. The right clothes and an appealing, short introduction ought to get Harry past the first task. He was fairly certain he wouldn’t be eliminated any time soon. After all, Jesse, next to him failed embarrassingly in the charms department and Valerie didn’t even bother to acknowledge most of the other men.

Except…you know… _him._

Louis Tomlinson, a.k.a Golden fucking Boy.

But that’s a thing of the past.

Harry pointedly decided to erase every thought and memory of Louis from his mind. Princess Valerie was not a toad, that fleeting thought was just an outcome of an irrational strike of jealousy. Nothing too big, just natural jealousy.

However, Harry was absolutely not affected by the boy he had dubbed ‘Golden Boy’ in his head for three weeks. He wasn’t. he was just terrifyingly drunk that night and probably would’ve seen Jesse as a blessing from God as well.

Not a big deal at all.

“Let this room devour you, boys! It’s where you’ll spend the majority of your four months in this castle. Every party and all the elimination ceremonies will be conducted within these pristine walls. I’ll give you a moment to disperse yourselves”, Princess Valerie’s voice emerged from her lip-gloss coated lips.

Some of the boys (did she really call a bunch of men in their mid-twenties ‘boys’? strange lady) walked around the room pretending to care about the many random paintings and tapestries hung up on the walls, and some chose to stay close to Valerie in hopes of building up the nerve to make small talk with her instead. Harry was part of the latter.

“Princess Valerie, was it?”, Harry asked nudging her ribs in a friendly way. This woman may have been a powerful princess with connections and a shitload of money but it was pretty obvious to Harry that in her eyes, orienting male humans was equivalent to watching paint dry.

Valerie raised her perfectly arched brows infinitesimally and smirked at Harry.

“I remember being promised a good time, when shall I expect it, Harry Styles?”, she replied with a slight smile and an extremely bored undertone.

Extremely bored.

She was bored.

_Of Harry?_

Now, Harry wasn’t a spoilt rich boy. Sure he had cartloads of money and sure he almost always got what he wanted but he was not _spoilt_. He wasn’t. and no one has ever been _bored_ of his charm. At least, never so blatantly. This whole women thing was new territory and Harry would very much like to go back to getting wasted and flirting with golden boys in nightclubs, please and thank you.

To make things worse, Harry was sure he heard an unmistakable sound of someone snickering at his gaping face.

He turned around with daggers ready to shoot out of his eyes but those daggers turned to fiery, red hearts as soon as his green glare landed on Louis.

This was getting too much like a badly written teenage fantasy.

“Princess Valerie, not to over-step but will an XY-chromosomed human really be able to show you a good time at all?” Louis asked, grinning blindingly.

Apparently he has no brain to mouth filter. Harry was ready for a whole scene to unfold where Princess Valerie shuns Louis and sends him to exile. Which wouldn’t be too daunting since Mercia was a tiny place but it would be chaotic.

And of course there’s also the fact that Louis owed him.

It wasn’t fair that Harry embarrassed himself for a whole night in front of the boy and he just goes around charming the pants off of everyone. It was all against the principle of balance in embarrassment.

Unfortunately for Harry’s view on balance, Valerie’s eyes finally showed it’s first hint of humanity since the time she talked about eliminating men.

“Actually, Louis-”

“Call me Tommo, love, I’m not yet king”

Princess Valerie smiled so wide Harry was afraid she would lose her cheek muscles.

“Well, then. Tommo”, she started again smile still intact, “I’m not one to consider chromosomes or gender at all when it comes to my love interests. Pansexual, I believe it is called.”

Louis’ already blinding smile, shone brighter as he high fived the Princess.

“See that Princess? We already have things in common. I always knew you were meant for me”, Louis chuckled. And if that wasn’t the cheesiest shit anyone had ever heard. But it seemed to amuse the Princess, nonetheless.

This was not okay. This was _Harry’s_ chance to impress her. And Louis was flirting with her as if the rest of the population of the ballroom wasn’t intently eavesdropping. Harry needed to up his game.

Before Harry could come up with a witty remark, however, the Princess climbed atop a short pedestal, that Harry failed to notice was resting on one end of the room and clapped her hands twice to capture the attention of the scattered contenders.

“Tomorrow is moving day and the Inauguration Ball starts at eight p.m. So you will all have plenty of time to pack your belongings and set up your single suites that the guards will direct you to as soon as you enter the castle. Have a good night everyone!”

Harry barely wasted a single second before rushing out of the castle, the last thing his already fucked up day needed was an encounter with Louis. He needed to get back to his own house and pack everything necessary and make a game plan in the process. He can’t let a stupid crush get in the way of his money.

Maybe that’s a problematic mindset but lust doesn’t hold a candle to money and he needs to get a grip.

Now, the games _really_ begin

**

For the second time that day, Harry nudged past the crowds of Camden’s markets. However, this time he didn’t bother to acknowledge any other pedestrians and chose to brainstorm conversation starters with the Princess instead.

What if he just silently took her to a secluded garden and had a deep heart-to-heart with her? If there’s one thing Harry’s good at (other than the million things he’s good at) it’s having heart to hearts. Granted, it was probably not likely for the Princess to be left alone in this whole quest to win her heart and things, but a man can dream.

Apparently he wasn’t equipped to multitask and his brain failed him for what felt like the millionth time that day as he tried to think and walk through the crowds at the same time.

On turning to his street littered by beautiful mansions with large gardens and big gates, his sighed deeply, knowing he would be expectantly interrogated the second he met his mother.

With his father at a business meeting, as he always is, his mansion (he had trouble considering it a home) was occupied solely by his mother and the housekeeper (the matronly woman who cared for him as if he was still a child).

Harry secretly loved having her as a grandma figure in his life. Not that he essentially needed one with his childhood passing by in the blink of an eye because of the many responsibilities that came with being a part of the Styles-Twist family, but Patty (the housekeeper) adorned his fast-paced life with a touch of humanity that was rather rare in a life like his.

It was an hour past lunch time and Harry was confronted by a million questions about his eating status the second he walked through the threshold of his house. He smiled without replying, Patty was great and all but Harry has bigger things to worry about than his empty stomach.

She accompanied him with various stress-laced comments about his weight and tired eyes as they walked through the short passageway that led to the vast living room.

The room was painted white on all four walls and had over the top ceiling designs that made Harry’s head hurt. At the centre of the room was a curvy, blue couch that faced the television his mother was intently staring at.

“Harry, have you had food yet, my boy?”, his mother asked not taking her eyes of the flashing glow of the screen that showed his dad’s bankruptcy news. The news had spread like toned down A-list gossip for months before someone spilled the beans to various media outlets and made Ricky Styles a media nightmare for the last week.

His mother, Andrea, had been furious about the whole scandal. Businesswoman as she was, she absolutely did not believe that all publicity was good publicity. She insisted the Ricky show his face at every possible gala or function or meeting to assure his high-profile colleagues that he wasn’t broke. A bit dramatic, yes, but also apparently very necessary in the business world. Not that harry would know shit all about that.

He’d rather spend his days under the sun, leaning on the tall oak tree in Camden Park, taking undeveloped photographs of the beautiful people and oddly calm sights that he saw in the park on a daily basis. But that was not in the cards for Harry Styles whose birth had basically confirmed the dynastic succession of his family business, a couple-run business that sold home appliances. Furniture, cutlery, anything and everything people want to clutter their homes with basically.

Harry had long-since learnt to come to terms with that. It was a glimmer of trauma in his otherwise perfect life. A single, small wasp in his life-long picnic.

“Yeah, I stopped by a coffee shop on the way here,” Harry lied. It wasn’t a problem; Harry just wasn’t hungry. He was dandy, peachy, simply perfectly fine.

Andrea hummed in response, confirming that she wasn’t actually interested in Harry’s response and asked simply for the sake of being a mother and all.

Harry wanted to leave the over-polished living room and run up the stairs to his own suite to prepare for the Ball and to silently ponder about his mother’s lack of motherliness, but he knew his she was looking to turn the conversation towards his encounter with the Princess that day and leaving would just make her call him back down. Which is, at risk of sounding like a brat, a giant pain in a house as big as his.

She probably just wanted to know if the rumours about the Princess were true and if she was charmed enough by Harry to marry him.

Harry inhaled the house’s perfumy scent and walked towards the couch. He plopped down opposite to his mother and saw Patty scuttle away from the corner of his eye. She had probably seen right through Harry’s coffee shop lie and was most likely on her way to make him a full three course meal.

Had Harry mentioned how much he loved Patty? Because he did a lot.

“So”, she predictably started, “how did the meeting with Princess Andrea go? Is she really into girls, and if she is, did you make a point to tell her you’re gay as well? Gay people absolutely adore other gay people, as you probably know”, she said, winking.

And well, she wasn’t _completely_ wrong. Being friends with gay people was much easier than interacting with heterosexuals. To put it simply, Harry had almost never met a funny straight person.

Okay that’s a slight exaggeration but the point still stands.

Coming back to his mother’s question, however, he realised that he had actually not flaunted his bisexuality to the Princess. He was rudely interrupted by Louis just when he started talking to her.

Louis, with his boundary-less questions. Louis, who subtly and effectively ensured that the Princess knew he was pansexual.

Fuck.

That boy was an actual vile mastermind. He wasn’t even flirting with the Princess, was he? He probably didn’t even _like_ her.

And Harry actually did like her, one can even go as far as saying he had a convenient crush on her.

This golden fuckwit was ruining Harry’s life, for fuck’s sake.

“Well, um, yeah she likes girls…and guys and non-binary people. Basically she’s pansexual, so gender doesn’t matter to her,” Harry spoke exaggeratedly with his hands waving and twirling. His mother nodded along with his words and urged him to continue.

“I didn’t really, like, get a chance to tell her I like men too. But, um, she seemed pretty infatuated by me. I wouldn’t be too worried,” he rushed in a single breath with his eyes half closed. He could feel his mother furrowing her eyebrows and shaking her head silently. But that’s okay. Harry would charm the body hair off of everyone at the Ball and his family would be proud for sure then.

“Harry, a lot it resting on you getting her money, can you for once do something for this family,” Andrea started her daily discourse. Harry tuned her out and nodded at the right places because this shattering of his self-love was quite frequent. Harry was okay with it, though. It wasn’t like his mother actually meant any of what she said, she’d just been extremely stressed for the past week and Harry was completely okay with being her punching bag.

After about ten minutes of his mother’s lecture, he stood from his spot on the couch and sighed before hugging her tightly, she sighed louder than he did but hugged him back just as tight.

“I love you, honey. I’m sorry about this,” she said, smiling expectantly up at Harry.

“It’s alright, I’m just going to go up and pack my things now. I do have a Ball to get to, y’know. I’m basically the fairy godmother to my own Cinderella,” he chuckled as his mother’s eyes fell back to the television and walked around the large couch and up the circular staircase with its silver rails. He tiredly dragged his feet through the painting-flanked hallway and to his quiet bedroom.

As he suspected, Patty had left fried rice and chicken with a light beverage of ginger ale on his bedside table. Harry shouted his thank you to Patty who was probably in the kitchen on the ground floor, but she heard him nonetheless as she responded with a holler of, “Eat, you idiot!”

And so he ate, he sipped his ginger ale while deciding suitable blazers and trousers he would have to wear to the many galas and balls he was guaranteed to attend. A heavy silver blazer with shimmering sequins caught his eye and he immediately made a decision to wear it for the Inauguration Ball. It was, after all, his real chance to make a memorable first impression on the Princess. He matched it with ironed white pants and a knitted sweater vest.

He over-packed his bare necessities and ended up putting in three varieties of the same body lotion. Perks of being rich.

After filling up six large suitcases, filled neatly with clothes, toiletries, books, jewellery, makeup and a framed family photo, he stretched tiredly and fell onto his bed like a lengthened rubber band returning to its curled state.

Harry had skipped dinner and dedicated his time to figuring out good ways to impress the Princess, much to his mother’s pleasure. However, it had been an awfully long day and Harry’s eyes closed instantly due to the impact of falling on his bed and he was far too unmotivated to open them again. And so he slept, hoping for eloquence and elegance in the Ball the next day but knowing full well that he was more likely to fall into the punch bowl than actually flirt with the Princess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you liked this!!! please please PLEASE comment if you do like it. or if you don't. or if you want to tell me how happy harry looked in the tpwk mv. my man was GLOWING. also if it wasn't obvious, the dress he chose for the Inauguration Ball was inspired by what he was wearing in that mv.  
> ANYWAYS  
> have a lovely day, you deserve it. *BIGGEST SMOOCH*


	4. Part 1: Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Princess Valerie is hot as fuck and hair gel is a man's best friend.

Since he had no prior obligations and did not need to shamefully walk into stores and ask for weird gifts to give to the Princess, Harry deserted the idea of walking four miles to get to the castle and chose to take his red convertible Chevelle instead. His six suitcases took up most of the car, but he managed to squeeze into the drivers’ seat comfortably.

His flicked on his black Ray Bans to cover his eyes from the harsh afternoon light and he wiggled his arm gracelessly to open the radio player and put on his Queen’s Montreal Tour DVD that he carried with him to all the exciting events of his life. He’d heard that marriage was considerably exciting and didn’t hesitate to include Freddie Mercury’s crispy-smooth voice in this new venture.

The car started with a low, thrumming rumble and he waved goodbye to a smiling Patty as he drove out of the large gates of his mansion. The eternally quiet streets surrounding his house didn’t break character as Harry’s DVD filled the air with rock melodies. His white button up (calling it a button up was really a stretch considering only two of its buttons were actually up) swayed with his bronze curls as the wind delightfully swam towards his car.

All things considered, he looked straight out of a romantic comedy.

Which was a good start to this monumental day. Maybe he’d meet the Princess near the gates of the castle and she’d get to see him in all his movie-like glory. Or, even better, maybe Louis would see him in his glory and chicken out of the contest.

Either of those occurrences would have made Harry’s life a fuck of a lot easier. But luck was a cruel myth and it wasn’t in Harry’s favour at all.

The Princess indeed wasn’t in the throne room that was located deep enough inside the castle that the contenders who had shown up with windswept, messy hair could’ve fixed their scrappy haystack before meeting her. She was quietly standing in the wide gold-leaved passageway immediately inside the doors of the castle.

It was almost like she was _waiting_ for the men to embarrass themselves. Fortunately for her, the contenders did a spectacular job of that.

Harry hoped he pulled off the ruffled hair look better than Jesse did, at least.

After parking his car in the underground parking lot and chatting with the drivers in hanging about because of the flood of fancy cars they were forced to take care of, he allowed one of the butlers of the castle carry his bag to his suite. He didn’t follow the butler and chose instead to “accidentally” run into the Princess.

He climbed up the rusty metal staircase that led to the recognisable front yard of the castle (yard? A middle-class family home’s plot area more like) and walked back to the familiar ebony door.

The guards he met the day before opened the door with a barely hidden smirk that Harry overlooked (unfortunately) as he smiled politely at them as he combed his hair with his long fingers.

For about thirty whole seconds he stood behind the closed door and clumsily feathered his hair, pulling out his swanky hair gel and trying to make sense of his hair’s madness.

His short-lived hair-stylist attempt was crushed by a snort.

“Mick Jagger, are you?”

Harry didn’t even attempt to contain his shock as his hair gel flew out of his hand and slid on the polished wooden floor. He held one gel-covered hand right at the pocket of his white button up, effectively ruining his movie-star get up.

“What the hell?”, he hissed, glaring icily at the Princess who was busy laughing her shit off. He walked the wooden floor and bent down to pick up his priced hair gel.

“Listen,” Harry started, walking towards the wheezing Princess and firmly pointing a finger at her. He stretched out his hand to bracket her against the wall and spoke darkly, “I may be here to win your heart but this was my favourite t-shirt. You owe me Vale-mean.”

“Vale-mean? What are you, five years old?”, she said, unblinking with her mouth still quirked upwards.

“I’m seven actually, and you know what seven-year olds do when someone pisses them off?”

The Princess’ smile dropped the second she saw Harry’s. She backed further into the gold-leaved wall (classic dumbass move) as Harry cornered her and winked as he filled her face with the blue gel.

“Fucking bitch” she screamed as Harry ran through the corridors and away from the Princess and her wrath.

Unfortunately, Harry had been in the castle only once in his whole life, while the Princess lived there. So, of course, since castles are large and full of hallways, he went and ran straight into a dead end. The doors on either side of him seemed to be locked janitor’s closets and the Princess’ footsteps seemed to be rapidly approaching.

He saw the edges of her long, satin gown before her face and backed against the wall awkwardly (because rich people are stupid, it’s a curse they’re born with) as she rubbed her long fingers against each other and approached him with her still-blue face.

She loomed towards him slowly and dramatically, the golden strands of her long hair fell like silk that shone under the dimly lit hallway. She was quite a sight and Harry gulped. Regardless of the blue gel that stuck inelegantly to her face, she looked like God’s greatest gift and Harry was entranced.

“You made me a promise when we met, carry on like this and you’ll be rewarded lavishly, my love.”

Harry, too caught up in her stunning demeanour, almost didn’t realize that she was standing close enough for him to see the bow of her lips and the light blue eyeliner that perfectly complimented her eyes. She exhaled softly and used her hand to tastefully wipe of some of the hair gel stuck to her cheekbone and placed her hand on Harry’s cheek while he gazed, green eyes meeting her blue ones.

In any other situation, Harry would not have appreciated being ambushed by fucking hair gel, but when Princess Valerie smiled and leaned in to give him an exaggerated kiss that transferred her blue mess to him, he couldn’t think of one single thing to complain about.

She laughed giddily and ran away before Harry had the chance to collect his thoughts, her gown and her hair rushing through the hallways like sunlight on a rainy day.

Harry was certain she was right back at her spot behind the castle doors. Patiently waiting to embarrass the rest of the contenders. But he knew that she'd not have as much fun with the rest of them. And that she'd probably not kiss them after meeting them twice. After all, not all of them were as smooth as Harry and his blue hair gel. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i despise writing about heterosexual shit. i once saw a post that said "i don't like reading het fics, because i dont like watching straight people fall in love" AND?? SAME?? but this is important to the plot and all.  
> HOWEVER, are you all liking the story?? please tell me in the comments :))  
> btw, i forgot to mention it earlier, but the title for the story is taken from 1950 by King Princess. it's very good.


End file.
